


and i would sing to you

by ohallows (dean_n_pie)



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Arguing, Hopeful Ending, M/M, based on a prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:10:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8547469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dean_n_pie/pseuds/ohallows
Summary: Based on this prompt: "i found your box of letters underneath my bed last night and because i’m a nosy motherfucker i decided to read them and it turns out they were all addressed to me and the last one was dated the day you moved out and i’m not quite sure why i thought this would be a good idea but here i am, standing on your doorstep, wondering why the fuck we’re not together anymore"





	

**Author's Note:**

> AND IM BACK... after uh... over a year... *sweats*
> 
> first foray into writing DC fic, hope i didn't fuck up too badly.. anyway...
> 
> not beta read, concrit appreciated!
> 
> \-- title from "find you" by green or blue --

"No, Dick, I'm not moving to Blüdhaven... Why? Because I don't want to die, basically. Plus, y'know, there was that one time a bomb was dropped on the city, so I'd rather - Dick, jesus, I'm not blaming - Dick, oh my god, I'm moving to NYC not China - no, I don't want to work with the Outsiders - I need to keep my _job_ , Dick - Dick, Bruce gave you a plane for your birthday, you can literally come visit me anytime you want -"

Tim lets out a long sigh and presses his phone closer to his ear, rolling his eyes. He adjusts the stack of boxes in his hands and backs up a couple steps, maneuvering through the doorway and into the living room. Carefully, he squats down to drop the boxes on the floor, almost dropping his phone.

Dick's still talking, so Tim goes back into the bedroom to grab another set. He puts Dick on speaker and makes a small hum of agreement, not really listening to whatever his older brother is saying. There's only a few boxes left under his bed and one on top of his closet. The one in the closet has the rest of his gadgets, so he pulls that down and carries it into the living room.

_"Tim? Timmy, are you still there? Don't tell me you just left me on speakerphone, that's so rude. Timmy?"_

"Dick, I'm right here," Tim says, grabbing his phone again. He rests it on the floor and lays down, stretching under the bed to grab the three boxes left. Once these are out of the way he can finally start loading up the truck and be out of here.

Dick's still trying to convince him to meet up with the Outsiders when he gets into New York City but Tim's... not really feeling it. Still, he makes little non-committal noises as Dick keeps talking, and that seems to be working. He's finally pulled the last box out when he notices that the wood where the box was is raised and warped. Tim frowns and stands up, pushing at the bed until it's been moved just enough for him to reach the wood.

He pulls on it and it comes up easily, revealing a little crevice hiding a thin box. It's looking pretty yellow and is just absolutely falling apart, and Tim literally has no idea what it's doing there.

"Hey, Dick," he says, interrupting his brother's monologue, "I'll call you back. Gotta go."

He hangs up right after Dick makes a greatly exaggerated offended gasp, cutting off the interrogation before it can begin. He'll deal with it later. He grabs the box and straightens up, head tilting to the side as he stares curiously at it. The other boxes sit there forgotten as Tim sits down on the bed, placing the mystery box on his lap.

He opens it and reels a bit when he sees the contents. There's a stack of old letters that takes up about half the box, and a couple other items that Tim recognizes. An old pair of glasses sits in the box, along with a battered tie that Tim thought he threw out years ago. He grabs the first letter in the stack, pulling it out to read the handwriting better.

He almost drops the letter when he realizes that, one, it's addressed to him, and two, it's in _Kon's_ handwriting. "What the..." he mutters, grabbing the next letter. It's dated after the one already in his hand, so Tim rifles through all of them until he finds the last letter.

There doesn't seem to be any significance with the date of the last letter; it's from about a year and a half ago. Tim goes back to the first letter and pulls it open. He glances at the date again and realizes that it's the day he and Kon first moved in together. It's only a couple of lines, and kinda messy - there's a lot of cross-outs and squiggles, but at least it's legible.

_Tim,_

_Ma said that writing letters about all this might help me figure out how I feel. Not sure how it's really gonna help, considering I don't ever plan to give these to you... Whatever. You're at work right now and I gotta find a place to hide these, but I dunno, you're a detective and all, so you'll probably find them within the week. I know we moved in together (finally) but we still haven't said the whole 'I love you' thing... I don't wanna be the first to say it, I don't think, but Tim... I think I might love you._

_Hm. Maybe Ma's right._

_Love, Kon_  

 

Tim blinks. He grabs the next letter, dated three weeks after the first one.

 

_Tim,_

_You won't be surprised by this, but I kind of actually forgot that I was writing these. Typical, right?_

_You haven't found these yet, so either you're not as good of a detective as you claim to be or I'm better at hiding things than I thought._

_You're sleeping right now, and it's 4am. Batman forced you to take a night off because you passed out when you and Dick were fighting Scarecrow and Robin had to come in and save your ass. Mandatory down time. It's kinda weird to see you sleeping for more than three hours, honestly._

_You look less worried when you sleep. It's nice._

_Kon_

 

Tim remembers that night, faintly. His mask had broken and he'd been exposed to a new, more potent strain of fear gas, making him collapse. Damian had been so superior when he came to, bragging about how he'd saved Tim and Dick, and how he was the best fighter ever (which, really, Cass can destroy him whenever she wants). Then Bruce had forced Tim to take a couple nights off while he worked through the aftereffects of the fear gas. 

Kon had nearly had a panic attack when Dick dropped Tim off that night, and proceeded to wrap him up in blankets and cuddle him on the bed for the whole night.

He shuffles through the next couple letters, all of which say the same sort of thing. Kon watched him sleep a lot more than he realized; almost every night Tim wasn't on patrol, Kon was watching him instead of sleeping himself. Tim would have thought it was creepy, but then again, his own track record would make him a hypocrite.

Impatient, Tim skips ahead to the most recent letter and pulls it out.

 

_Tim,_

_Well, I guess this is it. I don't - I don't even know why I'm writing this, actually. Closure, maybe?_

_You're at work. I'm... not sure what we're still doing anymore._

He gets it now. It's the day he and Kon ended everything, the day they had their huge explosive fight that neither of them could come back from. 

_We were. We were happy, I think? No. I know we were. Even you, Mr. Great Actor, couldn't have faked all that. We were good together._

_Tim, I think I've seen you three times total in the last month. You're pulling long hours, you're forgetting dates, you're lying about where you've been, and I just. I don't understand why._

_Was it me? It sucks cause I'll probably never know, heh. I don't really know what to do._

_I still love you, Tim, and that's what I hate about all of this._

_I'm gonna talk to you. Today. After you get back from work. We need to have this conversation, as much as I really don't want to._

_If you come home from work._

_God, Tim, sometimes I feel like I just wanna hate you. You act like I can't know what you're going through, that you're alone in this. I died, Tim, and I know you remember because you have nightmares about it._

_I understand more than you think. I'm not an idiot. I thought you, out of everyone, would see that._

_It's so much easier to talk to you when I'm not actually talking to you. Does that make sense?_

_Talk to you soon, Tim,_

_Conner_

What.

the.

fuck.

Tim's all but shoved the letter back into the box before he's scanning the room for a plastic bag he can stuff the box in. Because, honestly, what the fuck, Kon? Who said it was okay to leave a bunch of, a bunch of, love letters for someone and then forget they were there?

He's up and pacing before he realizes, but makes himself stop before he can make the rut in the carpet any bigger.

He needs to go talk to Kon.

\--

Tim's first stop is the farm. The Smallville sign blurs past him as he speeds over the deserted country road, wheels kicking up dust.

He's been to the Kent's farm enough times that it's not exactly hard to find anymore. The first time Kon had invited him over, Tim had ended up needing to call Kon from the middle of a cornfield and get some aerial assistance. If Kon's here, this time, it's going to be a much less fond reception.

Tim might be pissed off at Conner, but he does still have his manners (and a voice in his head, threatening him, that sounds a lot life Alfred), so he gently knocks on the door when he gets on the porch. Soft footsteps, and then the door is being pulled open and Martha Kent's face is peeking out through the screen door.

When she sees it's Tim, her face lights up. She pushes the door in and pulls him into a tight hug, squeezing his shoulders.

"Tim! It's been a long time, dear, didn't know when we'd be seeing you again," she says. "John, get out here, Tim's come to see us!"

Jonathan Kent comes ambling around the corner, clapping a hand onto Tim's shoulder. "Good to see you, son."

"Good to see you too, Mr. and Mrs. Kent," Tim said, shaking Pa Kent's hand.

"Now, Tim," Ma Kent says, waggling her finger at him, "if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. None of this 'Mr.' and 'Mrs.' stuff, you hear?" She waves him through to the kitchen and Pa follows, winking at Tim.

"How have you been? It's been a long time since we've seen you," Ma says, rummaging through her cabinets for a glass. "Water?"

"Yes please," Tim says. "I've been good, thanks. Pretty busy with Wayne Enterprises, but that's what I signed up for when I took the job."

"It's good to hear you've been keeping busy," Pa says, handing the glass of water to Tim while Martha grabs a plate.

"Would you like a piece of pie, dear?" Ma says, not waiting for an answer before she's opening the fridge and grabbing three different types of pie and dropping them in front of Tim. "We've got apple, cherry, and pumpkin. Which would you like?"

Tim's learned by now (and through terrifying stories told by Clark, Kon, and Dick) that refusing Ma Kent's pies is tantamount to spitting in her face, so he doesn't even try.

"I'll take the apple, please, ma'am."

"Such a polite boy," Ma says, clapping Tim on the cheek. "I'll get your pie warmed up in no time."

Pa sits at the table and gets a kiss on the head from Ma as she passes by, grinning. "So, why'd you come all the way to Kansas to visit us today, Tim? I assume it's not a social call?"

Tim smiles weakly. Ma hits Pa gently with a spoon, and Pa just laughs.

"No asking questions until the boy's got some pie in front of him, Jonathan!" Ma grabs the plate out of the microwave and bustles around the table, handing Tim a fork along with the thick-cut piece of pie.

Tim takes a big bite. He's missed Ma's apple pie, and it's been a while. It felt awkward to come here after everything with Kon, so he hasn't been to visit in a few years. Stupid, really, because Ma and Pa are just as welcoming as they had been before the break-up. Tim never had anything to worry about.

"Actually, I'm looking for Conner. I was cleaning out the apartment because I'm moving to New York and I... found some stuff of his in the apartment recently and wanted to give it back to him. It's not big but it doesn't feel right to get rid of it," Tim explains. "Do you know where he moved to?"

Ma shakes her head. "I wish I could help, dear, but Conner just changed apartments again, and hasn't written us with his new address."

"Clark might be able to help," Pa chimes in, leaning back in his chair. "I'll write down his Metropolis address for you, once I find a pen and paper."

"Oh, there's no need," Tim says around a mouthful of pie, covering his mouth. He can feel Alfred glaring at him from Gotham, so he swallows before continuing. "Alfred has Clark's address programmed into the computer, in case of emergencies. All the Leaguers are in there, actually."

"Well, there you are then," Pa says, smiling.

\--

Ma and Pa Kent can't help him find Kon (or, they won't, which is just rude, Tim thought he was their favorite. Should have known it was Dick) so after thanking Ma for the pie he hops into his car and guns it to Metropolis. A quick call to Alfred gets him the promise of a lecture as soon as he steps foot back into the manor, but it also gets him Clark's address, so it's an overall success, honestly. He parks (probably illegally, but it's not like he or Bruce don't have enough money to pay it off, so he's less inclined to care) and has barely stepped out of the car before Clark is standing in front of him.

"A little bird called ahead, said you were looking for me?" Clark asks, and Tim nods.

"Hey, Clark. Do you know where Conner's living right now?" he asks, instead of any greeting, and Clark gives him a disappointed look. Tim shrinks up a bit and looks down, scuffing his toe against the pavement. It's ridiculously annoying, sometimes, how Clark can do that, and Tim's grateful that Kon didn't seem to be given that particular quality when he was cooked up in a lab.

"Sorry. Is there a coffeeshop nearby, or something?" he asks, and Clark literally beams at him. Tim can hear Bruce's exasperated sigh in his head, and can't help but snicker.

Clark leads him around the corner to a small table where they sit, ordering two black coffees when a waitress comes over.

"I didn't know Alfred had your number," Tim says, burning his tongue when he takes a sip.

Clark just laughs. "Alfred has everyone's number. I think he has more ways to reach the team than Bruce does, to be honest."

He leans back in his chair and eyes Tim. "Why are you looking for Kon?"

There's more than a little suspicion in his eyes, and Tim can't really blame him. He knows Kon probably went to Clark after... everything. Well. He probably went to Martha, then Lois, then Bart, then maybe Clark, depending on if Cassie was having a bad day or not. Still. Clark definitely knows, and definitely doesn't completely trust Tim.

Tim... can't really blame him. Bruce would do the same if Kon came to him. Although, Bruce would have a lot less trust and would most likely not even speak to Kon. And Bruce didn't really like or trust Kon to begin with. It's. Whatever.

"I found some stuff that Kon left in the apartment and um. I want to give them back but I also want to ask what the fu- what the hell he was thinking."

Clark raises an eyebrow. "And this stuff is so important that you can't just give them to me or Bart to bring over to him?"

Bart had been Switzerland in their fairly explosive breakup and would have been more than happy to carry stuff over (and did, after the fallout) but this is a bit more personal, Tim thinks.

"It's gotta be me," Tim laughs, begging for Clark not to ask anything else.

For about the third time that day he thanks whatever gods exist (except the greek ones, because they're dicks) that he's dealing with Clark and not with Bruce. Maximum efficiency with minimal questions asked. It's a refreshing change of pace.

"Alright," Clark says, and he doesn't really seem like he trusts Tim at all yet, but he does look like he's willing to give him a chance. Tim just can't promise he won't let Clark down. "He's across the city. I'll draw you up a map."

"Thanks, Clark, really. You're the best."

Clark smiles. "Don't let Bruce or Diana hear you say that." He hands a hastily scribbled but detailed map over to Tim on a napkin, and waves him off. Tim grins again and moved to turn, but Clark grabs his arm.

"Tim, I'm doing this because I trust that you aren't going there with the intention of hurting Kon. I may not know the full story of what happened between you, but I do want him happy."

"I'm not -" Tim starts to say, but pauses. Restarts. "My intention isn't to hurt him, I promise. I just. Found some things that I want him to explain to me."

That must have been a good enough answer because Clark lets go of his sleeve with an indulgent smile.

"Then good luck, Tim. Kon should be home by now if you'd like to speak with him."

"Thanks, Clark," Tim says, giving the older man a hug. Clark claps him on the back and lets go, grinning. Tim watches him stride away before heading back to the car, programming Kon's address into the GPS. It's about 5 minutes away, which is just enough time for Tim to actually come up with a plan of attack.

\--

Apparently, those five minutes are also long enough for Tim to get pissed off, because how dare Kon leave those letters behind? It's like he wanted Tim to find them and, what? Feel guilty? Well, Tim doesn't (that much) so game, set, and match?

He's pissy by the time he steps up to Kon's door and probably knocks a bit too aggressively, but it's too late to backtrack now.

Kon answers the door and Tim is pushing the letters in his face before he can say anything.

"What the fuck are these?" he hisses, proud that his voice didn't crack.

Kon doesn't move for about a half beat, gaze flickering from Tim's face down to the letters being shoved in his own, and then his face turns white. Tim shoves him aside as he storms into the apartment, throwing the letters down on the table. Kon is still standing at the door, just staring at Tim as though his mind hasn't caught up to what's actually happening, so Tim just points at the letters again.

"What. the fuck. are these." Tim says it slowly, because maybe if he draws out the words Kon will actually begin to process the situation. The door closes with a soft click, and then Kon is awkwardly standing in the doorway as he just stares at the letters.

"I, uh -" Kon starts, licking his lips. "Kinda. Forgot about these, actually."

Tim falls into a chair, because of course.

"Of course you did. Of course." Which might have been a bad move, because now Kon's got a sort-of offended/angry thing going on and Tim just feels bad.

"Hey, me having to move out was pretty abrupt, so don't blame me for forgetting about some stuff. There were other things on my mind when we broke up."

"You broke up with me, Kon," Tim says, folding his arms.

"Well, sorry, but how else was I supposed to interpret your complete avoidance of me for a week and how you were lying to me about where you were? Felt like a breakup to me, Tim."

Tim groans, frustrated. "I can't do this again, Kon, we fight about the same thing everytime we see each other."

Kon laughs, sarcastic and bitter. "Yeah, Bart loved dealing with both our sorry asses back then. Thought we were over that particular argument, though. Guess not."

"Can you just -" Tim covers his face with his hands and counts to 10. When he opens them, the letters are still there and he's sitting in Kon's apartment in Metropolis. And he's exhausted. "Explain, please. What the letters are."

"Well, I'm assuming you've read them, Tim?"

Tim shakes his head on instinct, but Kon just rolls his eyes.

"You're just as bad of a liar now as you were back then, Mr. Great Detective. I'm not an idiot, Tim."

"I read a few of them, skimmed others. They told me why you started writing them, but I'd rather hear it from you, Kon."

"Sure. Because what's a couple years of radio silence between friends?" Kon pushes off from the door and walks over to the table, leaning over it and glaring at Tim. "How about this. I tell you why I wrote the letters, you tell me why you were so goddamn distant. Deal?"

Tim holds his hand out. "Deal."

Kon's hand is large and warm; Tim takes a second to flash back to better, happier days. The moment breaks when the grip does, and Tim mentally shakes himself.

"You go first, then."

"Fine." Kon folds his arms and sits down, evaluating Tim from across the table. "I wrote the letters because they gave me something to do at night. And, it was way easier to write about how I felt about you than actually tell you myself. Plus, as you saw, Ma suggested it and every time I've turned down her advice it ended badly for me."

Tim stays silent, waiting to see if Kon is going to add anything else.

"It also, I guess, helped ground me. Or whatever. Gave me something constant to focus on. Like when I had that notebook tallying how I was like Clark versus how I was like Luthor."

Tim nods. "Okay."

"Your turn."

Right. Tim bites the inside of his cheek, trying to decide how much information he is going to have to give to make Conner be satisfied.

"That month," he started slowly, "was one of Jason's bad months. He was. He was way more volatile than normal, almost killed Damian one morning until Dick pulled him off. We put him back into Arkham to kind of... ride through it, as we normally did.

"He was doing better a week later, weirdly enough, so Bruce let him out with the condition that he was gonna stay at the Manor and not patrol."

"Bet he loved that," Kon says, frowning.

"He was weirdly docile, actually. Didn't even argue. We all thought, maybe... he was getting better."

"So what happened?"

Tim pauses. "The Joker. He broke out of Arkham again, bragged about killing Robin, poisoned the water supply, all the usual stuff. And Jason just - he lost it.

"His room was a mess when we went in there, and all of his weapons were missing." Tim shudders. Him and Dick had been the one to go inside, and there was blood on the sheets and empty ammo packs scattered on the floor.

"We tracked him down in time before he could do any damage, but..." Tim trailed off, sighing.

"Long story short, we had double patrol to keep tabs on Jason and also to stop whatever the hell the Joker was planning, and Damian was laid up and Steph and Cass were out of the country, Luke couldn't help us out, and Huntress could only be trusted to go after the Joker instead of being on Jason duty.

"It was me, Dick, Bruce, Huntress, Question, Batwoman, Catwoman, and the GCPD. There wasn't enough of us to handle both situations, and. A couple officers died. Catwoman left before it all ended. Jason got angry and sliced Dick's thigh, almost severing his artery."

"Jesus, Tim, why didn't you tell me?"

Tim shrugs. "Family business." He knows it's a weak answer, but it's the truth, and it's such a cop-out and it's the only thing he can offer Kon. The family handles themselves, and Tim's been basically trained into keeping family things private, regardless of who Kon was to him. "Sorry."

"I'm sure you are," Kon mutters, frowning. "That's a bullshit excuse, by the way."

He's not expecting a response, he knows Tim too well to expect anything more than that, even though Tim owes him so much more. Tim doesn't try to fill the silence.

"So what happened?" Kon asks, and Tim almost forgot he hadn't finished the explanation.

"We finally hit Jason with enough tranqs to knock him out for at least a couple days, and kept him under lock in the manor for a few weeks while he worked through the - the pit sickness, or whatever, and was back to whatever counts as normal for him."

"Well, shit," Kon says, and yeah, that's basically a great summary of it. Alfred had said it much more eloquently, but Dick had a few choice words he'd dropped (out of earshot of Damian, obviously, though Tim didn't know why he cared so much) after Jason had finally been knocked out.

"So, the big break-up, the reason we aren't together anymore, is slightly because of your brother with homicidal tendencies and mostly because of your inability to communicate crisis situations to anyone outside your immediate sphere," Kon mutters.

"That's not fair, Kon," Tim says, feeling the anger coming back and bubbling just under the surface of his skin.

"Isn't it? Because from where I'm standing, that's what I see."

"It was a lot more than that, we both weren't talking about it, you can't just pin this on me," and this is what Tim was expecting as he waited for Kon to open the door. Petty, pointless arguing that had marked most of their conversations before Kon had ended it. Tension that built up and built up until it exploded, bringing debris and secrets down on both their heads.

"At least I was trying to talk to you Tim, you were just completely shutting me out and you ignored me when I said anything about it!"

"I didn't know what you _wanted_ , Kon, you weren't talking to me and I couldn't figure it out, I -"

"Tim, I never wanted us to break up!" Kon yells, slamming his hand down onto the table. It vibrates harshly but doesn't shatter, and Tim kind of hates how his brain immediately wants to analyze the metal. "This wasn't - I didn't want this! But how the fuck else was I supposed to interpret me _literally_ not seeing you for a _week_?"

He stops, face red. "I knew you for long enough to know how you bats and birds are. I thought - I thought you just didn't care anymore but didn't know how to tell me."

"That's not what it was."

"Now you tell me." It's surprisingly bitter, but Tim doesn't necessarily think he can blame Kon for that. Kon slumps down in the seat of his chair and Tim watches the fight just drain out of him. Kon's regarding him wryly from across the table, and Tim breaks his gaze when it all just becomes too much.

It's silent for a moment as Tim stares down at the arm of the chair, tensing up. He swallows, mouth dry.

"I - Why didn't you say something?" Tim asks, still not looking Kon in the eye.

Kon snorts. "Tim, we were, like, 19. You weren't too hot with emotion at the best of times. At the time, out of all you guys, Dick seemed to be the only one actually capable of having a difficult emotional conversation."

"I've-" Tim swallows, again. "I've gotten better."

"I believe you." There's a rustling noise that Tim registers as Kon standing up and walking over to the counter, and he finally looks up. "Plus, Bart's kept me updated."

He grabs two glasses of water and fills them to the brim, using his TTK to keep them from spilling over as he carries them back to the table. "Here."

Tim grabs his and gratefully takes a sip. "Thanks."

It's silent for a moment. Tim doesn't really feel angry, more tired and regretful, and he doesn't totally trust himself to open his mouth right now.

"So what now?" Kon asks. "Is this the part where we call it a blank slate and ignore the past, reintroducing ourselves like it meant nothing beforehand in a super-cheesy move that pleases the audience? Hi, I'm Conner Kent, part-time superhero."

Tim just stares at him.

"I'm kidding. Been watching too many romcoms with Cassie and Gar recently. That seems to be a classic move."

Tim smirks. "Pretty sure that move would never work in real life. I mean, who would actually just forget all the bad shit that happened? You gotta use it for blackmail material. Amateurs."

Kon laughs, full-bodied and deep; Tim cracks a smile as he watches him.

"Dude, you smiled. That's, like, the equivalent of a full-on hysterical meltdown for you."

Tim rolls his eyes. "You know, I do have settings other than 'frowning' and 'judgmental'."

"Sure you do, Timmy," Kon says, patting him on the head.

This is the first silence that's felt comfortable since Tim got here, and he feels balanced in a way that he hasn't since, well, since before the entire mess with Jason and Kon. It's strange; he came here to figure out just what the fuck Kon was doing with the letters, but now they're actually sitting and talking and it just feels so right that Tim doesn't really want to leave.

"Hey," Tim says, startling himself by actually speaking first. But waves are crashing under his skin and he needs to get this out before he retreats under his shell again. He's never rash, always calculating, and not giving himself time to think, time to regret, is freeing. "I'm moving to NYC soon. Before I go, would you. Would you wanna get dinner sometime?"

Kon smiles at him, and it's like the world has clicked a bit more firmly into place. "As it happens, the Planet wants me to take up a field assignment in Long Island. So maybe we'll cross paths while we're there?"

Tim nods, trying not to think about how Kon hasn't actually answered the question.

"And, Tim? About dinner? I'd love to."


End file.
